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I saw that all the other tabs were out of key, so I decided to put this up. My first tab, tell me what you think. The chorus is slightly off, if you've got any suggestions my email is sixstringksa@gmail.com. Regular tuning, Key of F solo/break in Dm pentatonic i believe. Listen to the song for strum pattern and rhythm. Intro: Bass Part for guitar A------1-1------5-----3-3------1----3-3--------1------3-3| E--1-----------------------------------------------------| X6 Chorus: Full bar chords (Can substitute for open chords) F E|O|-|-| B|O|-|-| G|-|O|-| D|-|-|O| A|-|-|O| E|O|-|-| Bb E|O|-|-| B|-|-|O| G|-|-|O| D|-|-|O| A|O|-|-| E|X|-|-| C (3rd fret) E|O|-|-| B|-|-|O| G|-|-|O| D|-|-|O| A|O|-|-| E|X|-|-| Dm (5th fret) E|O|-|-| B|-|O|-| G|-|-|O| D|-|-|O| A|O|-|-| E|X|-|-| Chord progression F Bb Dm C Bb C Bb C Verse: F Bb Dm C Bb C Bb C Chorus: F Bb Dm C Bb C Bb C Solo/break: F Bb Dm C Bb C Bb C Verse again Chorus Ends On F Chord [ Tab from: http://www.guitaretab.com/e/erik-petersen/342729.html ] Lyrics: when father bought the farm we sold the farm we stick his blood through rustic charms sold his ghost as an antique to the city kids today can't hold a spade rest in peace your weary trades in this world there is no place such a pity well a barman shakes his head and fills my glass says we're livin' in the past why preserve a dying craft in its misery we sigh and say another modern man one of property not land so hold out this battered hand while u listen CHORUS come sit down, we're lamenting about yesterdays sad ending, bout the water in me whiskey, the brass passed off as gold another round we're descending into old time memory of a day when wood was wooden, silver - silver, gold was gold, sweet home was home so you say you got a wood stove and your second home runs on gas but looks like oak, hell it even gives off smoke and glowing ambers, theres a quilbum on the wall reads home sweet home the loathsome wise words from the road and they call me throwback when i cry remember CHORUS son these tools are artefacts endangered species left its tracks lock me up behind plastic glass in the city theres no going back for me this santiques rustic eulogy shall be sold as folk artistries - such a pity but ill never understand why they all only use those hands to build a stead that will always stand in old time country but settle for white herms and hollow doors paper ceilings, padded floors luxury boxes where your stored and what was country CHORUS |